


threads of gold, silver, and red

by a_a_writes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Fluff, Greek Gods AU, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Moon God Akaashi, One Shot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Suicide, Sun God Bokuto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:26:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26417947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_a_writes/pseuds/a_a_writes
Summary: There is a myth that goes about amongst the mortals occupying the earth. Sad and unfortunate the story is, yet such a beautiful result it brings. A tale long past, but just as sacred as the gods that wrote it.A red thread, the very one that connects a person to their soulmate, tied to his pinky. Keiji has never been one for such arbitrary tales, but he finds himself listening in, anyway——to the tale of threads of gold, silver, and red.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	threads of gold, silver, and red

There is a myth that goes about amongst the mortals occupying the earth. Sad and unfortunate the story is, yet such a beautiful result it brings. A tale long past, but just as sacred as the gods that wrote it. 

A red thread, the very one that connects a person to their soulmate, tied to his pinky. Keiji has never been one for such arbitrary tales, but he finds himself listening in, anyway—

_ to the tale of threads of gold, silver, and red. _

* * *

As the god of the sun, Koutarou knew that many look to him for the warmth and light he provides every day. Many stare at him with awe, with envy, with adoration, but with time, Koutarou learned that such things should never disturb him. In fact, he revels in the attention, and he makes it known with bright smiles and loud greetings that seemed to call for more recognition.

Of course, there is always an exception, and for Bokuto Koutarou, it comes in the form of a god who seemed to dance rather than walk, and sing rather than speak. 

It is rather humbling for the perplexed sun god, but if Koutarou had the praise and attention of the heavens, what was one god who paid him no mind?

It is everything. For a god who lives for approval and adoration, the known absence of one is  _ everything _ .

He never looks at Koutarou with the same awestruck eyes as everyone else, and the god found it curious. Intriguing. Abnormal. It is so strange that Koutarou soon finds his own eyes wandering whenever this unimpressed god is around, glued to him and only him. 

Everyday duties that Koutarou does, he places effort into— more so than before, all for a chance to fill those uninterested indigo orbs with the same wonder everyone looks at him with. 

Then the day comes when he, tired of the constant chase, walks up to the god he learned to be Akaashi Keiji. Koutarou has a smile on his face, warm and inviting, as he makes his way to Keiji. Tetsurou is by the sun god’s side, trying one last time to convince Koutarou that this task was trivial and unnecessary.

But alas, the simple-minded god is determined, and as Keiji turns to face Koutarou at the golden-eyed man’s call, Tetsurou sees it. The hidden admiration tucked away in stormy blue hues, bashful and hesitant, almost as if scared of something. 

Tetsurou would have laughed at the pointless expedition Koutarou had set on from the very first day, but he stays silent and observes the interaction. He watches it all unfold, from the second Koutarou flashes a blinding grin at Keiji, to the very moment Keiji returns it.

And in that moment, in the brief second that belongs to the eternity that they live in, Tetsurou sees the exact moment his friend falls. It is brief and silent, but when Koutarou’s eyes recognize a smaller reflection of his goofy grin on the beauty’s face, he stumbles straight into it. Love, perhaps, is what it is called, but Tetsurou could not quite assure himself of the label. Infatuation, in this instance, is more fitting, he deems.

* * *

_ “Akaashi? What power do you hold?” “The moon, Bokuto.” _

The moon— the moon that belongs to the night sky, is always seeking the sun for its light, and Keiji, the god of the moon, is no different. In truth, the moon god himself had never, in his thousands of years alive, imagined that the very sun he chased after would come to him so willingly. 

It is all a blur to him, but if someone were to ask, Keiji is sure he could recall every moment he shared with Koutarou with ease, down to the very last detail. They talk from the moment Koutarou hangs the sun in the sky, to the very last moment when Keiji places the moon in its stead, and the few hours they share in between. At one point, he says something, and Koutarou laughs, and  _ oh heavens _ , it is so clear and so melodic and so bright.

Their conversations, from the arbitrary ones to the philosophical ones, become more and more common, taking up the empty hours that Keiji had once dreaded passing every day. They talk and talk, until Keiji can hear the echoes of Koutarou’s laughter and lingering words in the quiet moments as he lay in bed, cushioned by clouds and roses red. Keiji looks at Koutarou as much as he can, until all he can see when he closes his eyes are golden orbs, rosy cheeks, and pink lips. 

He has always found it rather funny, how gods could possess traits so human. Merriment, misery, wrath, love— feelings all the same and parallel to the very mortals they rule over on earth. Keiji would laugh at this fact if he himself were able to confidently admit that he had never experienced such emotions; but he has, he is experiencing it all in the form of Bokuto Koutarou, the god of the sun.

* * *

Koutarou never thought much of the sun. Having been in charge of it and the morning sky for centuries at this point, he has admittedly grown immune to the very wonder that people still experience when they see it.

However, Koutarou is thankful that it existed, because now, as he watches Keiji walk amongst the flowers in the eternal garden, he takes in the way that the god of the moon seems to shimmer under the golden rays of the sun, before he imprints it onto his mind to hold onto for another few thousand years. 

“Is something the matter, Bokuto?” Keiji’s voice rings pleasant, hanging in the light atmosphere between them. “You…” Pink dusts the raven-haired man’s cheeks. “Keep looking at me.”

Koutarou is an honest god, and more often than not, the thoughts he holds in his head come falling out of his mouth before he can think twice. “You look pretty, ‘kaashi.” He compliments easily, savouring the way Keiji’s face turns just a little more red. “You look pretty under the sun,” Koutarou reaches out and thumbs at a rose. “Surrounded by flowers.”

Keiji curls a fist loosely, bringing it up to cover his mouth as he turns away. “Th-Thank you.” Keiji murmurs in return. 

And the god of the moon would never say it aloud, lest he be too ashamed to face Koutarou after, but Keiji thinks that Koutarou looked the best under silver rays in return— the very same ones that his moon brings down onto the heavens and earth.

Keiji proves it to himself that very same night, when they walk through an open expanse of grass, the cool air breezing by like a sparrow in the sky. 

Koutarou faces him after glancing up at the moon, a goofy grin on his face that Keiji sees reflected in his dreams every night. “You know,” Koutarou muses, taking Keiji’s hand in his own gently. “Lots of people say that the sun and the morning is better than the night. But perhaps it is because they are never awake long enough to witness the true beauty of this.”

Golden eyes catch silver rays, and Keiji cannot help but lean in, just a little closer, like he has a secret to say. “I personally agree with them,” Keiji hums, tearing his gaze away from Koutarou’s jovial one. “I think the sun is gorgeous— much more so than a bland moon that only shines when the sun is there.”

“I forbid you from saying that!” Koutarou gasps, facing Keiji properly and making sure that the shorter male is also facing him. “You cannot say that the moon is bland and boring when someone as spectacular as you holds it every night and day.” He scolds softly, golden eyes earnest and kind. Koutarou lifts his hand, still holding onto Keiji’s, right up to his lips. “The moon and the night are gorgeous to me because you are the one who holds it— anything you touch is precious to me…” Koutarou states, pressing his lips to Keiji’s knuckles. “Keiji.”

Every last part of the moon god’s being lights up, burning like a roaring flame in the dead night. Keiji’s hands tremble, and so do his lips, but Koutarou hardly seems concerned, for the god of the sun can see the way Keiji’s eyes reflect him with love and adoration. 

Keiji wants to say it back. He wants to tell Koutarou that he adores the sun and morning sky because it is reminiscent of Koutarou. He wants to tell the sun god that he is just as important to Keiji as water is to the roots of a tree. He wants Koutarou to know that he feels the same.

Yet it seems he need not say so, because when Koutarou’s arm wraps around Keiji’s waist lovingly, drawing him in closer, Keiji knows that Koutarou understands. He always has. He always will.

A long, slim digit slips underneath Keiji’s chin, tilting it up just so. Koutarou’s eyes meet his own, and Keiji unconsciously clenches the golden material of Koutarou’s chiton in his fist. The white-and-black haired god leans closer and closer so, his lips a mere inch from Keiji’s. His breath ghosts over the indigo eyed god’s lips, and Keiji’s body laxes slightly. 

Koutarou keeps his gaze locked onto Keiji’s, the hand under his chin slipping up to cup Keiji’s cheek. “May I?” He asks softly, eyes kind and understanding, telling the other man that he was free to pull away.

Keiji does not.

“Mm.” Keiji barely trusts his voice, so he settles for humming out his answer, hoping that his eyes relay his response well enough. When Koutarou leans in, Keiji knows that they have.

And their lips meet under the kind eyes of the moon, sending lightning coursing through their bodies. It is like honey replaces the blood in their veins, moving slow and languid, like their lips against each other’s. 

When Koutarou pulls back moments later, Keiji thinks that perhaps, the night may be just as gorgeous as the morning, if not more.

* * *

Truly, their love is one for centuries, and there is one night, which Keiji isn’t sure if it were days or weeks ago, when Koutarou whispered promises and secrets onto his body, as if they could be stitched onto Keiji’s skin. 

Tangled in the sheets of silk in Koutarou’s bed, the god of the moon basks in the warmth of his lover, the smell of roses and  _ Koutarou _ enveloping him completely. The god of the sun has an arm over Keiji’s waist, and the dark-haired god cannot help himself but to move only a bit closer.

“You are truly a sight to behold in the moonlight.” Koutarou’s gruff voice murmurs to him softly, his free hand reaching up to stroke at Keiji’s smooth skin with gentle fingers. “I… am happy. That you chose to love me.”

“So am I.” Keiji chuckles, leaning in. “I am glad that you chose to love me, and that I can love you so.”

Koutarou’s eyes brighten at the words and  _ oh _ do they feel amazing, like sunlight peeking in through his ribs to encase his heart in the loving warmth that only Akaashi Keiji could ever bring about. 

Moments of silence pass, but neither of the men make a move to pull away, not even with the morning coming so soon, the cue for Koutarou to leave once more. But Keiji knows he will return; after all, he always has, and he always will. 

“Hey, Keiji,” Koutarou shuffles in his spot for a moment, laying on his side with his hand holding up his head. “Let’s… Let’s make a promise.”

At this, the moon god’s brows furrow with confusion, but he is interested, nevertheless. “A promise?” Keiji feels Koutarou’s arm leave his waist, but the warmth of the god’s body lingers. 

“Mm.” Koutarou confirms, smiling. “A promise. I will promise,” He holds up his now free hand, curling every finger but his pinky. “To love you until we run out of time.”

Keiji cannot help but laugh slightly at his words, the thought of their time ‘running out’ being a complete impossibility to him. “We are gods in the heavens, Kou,” Keiji hums in a low tone, eyes endearing as they stare at the man before him. “Our time will never run out.”

“Well, you never know, right?” Koutarou wiggles his brows slightly in a teasing manner, making light of a situation that they both know is too heavy to speak about completely. “And I will promise that after our time here, I will continue to love you, Akaashi Keiji. I will love you when we are nothing, and when we are everything— from this life to the next, and everything in between.”

Keiji’s heart thumps wildly in his chest, indigo eyes widening slightly at the sun god’s promise of loving him forevermore. Nevertheless, Keiji would be a fool to say that he feels nothing of the sort. He might not be the best with words, but Keiji knows that his promise would have been the same.

Pushing the silk sheets off of his bare body, Keiji turns over and reaches for his chiton on the floor. The silver material glimmers in the light, and Keiji tugs at a loose thread gently, letting it come off of the piece before haphazardly abandoning his chiton once more. He faces Koutarou with a smile that the sun god hopes he will continue wearing until they are nothing more but gods of ancient history.

He watches curiously as Keiji takes his outstretched hand tenderly, curling his own fingers around Koutarou’s pinky. Slowly, as if making his promise as he does so, Keiji ties the thread of silver around Koutarou’s pinky, like a ring to seal his vow. “And I promise to love you, whether we are gods, mortals, sinners, or anything in between.” Keiji pledges in a kind tone, mirroring Koutarou’s actions from moments before when he lifts the man’s hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the thread, then to Koutarou’s finger.

“Then,” Koutarou huffs with a laugh, turning slightly to pick up his own chiton, golden in colour. He tugs a string loose and holds it up. “Let us wear these as our promise, and one day, I will replace these with rings fitting of you.” Koutarou mutters, clumsily tying the string around his partner’s pinky, leaving a knot of gold around the moon’s finger.

“You need not do such a thing.” Keiji counters softly, but a shake of Koutarou’s head makes him fall silent. 

And the rest of a night much too short for the lovers passes once more, and when Koutarou leaves again to bring forth the sun, Keiji bids him goodbye silently. He chooses to say goodbye by linking their pinkies together, having the hold linger until the last moment when Koutarou disappears behind the door.

Neither mortals nor gods will ever see it, but now, as the moon depends on the sun for its light, the sun depends on a sliver of silver on a finger to be able to come forth. Gold and silver weave together, and the world between and for the two gods feels just a little smaller— just enough for the both of them.

* * *

Akaashi Keiji wants to laugh at his fate, and in this moment, he realizes and comes to terms with the fact that perhaps, Koutarou is not the only one able to draw human emotions out of him. 

Koutarou brings out Keiji’s happiness, sadness, and excitement— he brings out Keiji’s love— but never has the god of the moon experienced wrath and hate as strong as this.

Keiji gasps for breath as he struggles to overpower his assailant, fighting for freedom from the tight grip the attacker has on his wrists. “Unhand me! I do not want this with you! Let go of me now!” Keiji cries out, but his pleas fall on deaf ears— both his attacker’s and the very being that created him. “Stop!”

“Just stay still!” His assailant growls angrily, tightening his grip as if to warn the god underneath him. A smirk grows on his face, and it makes Keiji’s insides curl. “You have no idea how long I have waited for you— only to find out you decided to take the hand of the sun god!”

Keiji says nothing to this, mustering up another wave of strength to push his hands apart, effectively making the man release his grip on him. The moon god reaches for the closest thing to him, which happens to be a vase. Keiji takes the item and brings it to the man’s head, allowing it to shatter against his skull, further disorienting the man and causing him to fall sidewards from the force. 

The dark-haired god scrambles out of the bed, running out before he hears footsteps coming after him.  _ ‘Not like this,’  _ Keiji thinks to himself, breath leaving him in small puffs.  _ ‘I will not let myself be defiled like this!’ _

Keiji finds himself in a garden soon after, his attacker still hot on his trail. “Leave me alone!” Keiji shouts, tears of frustration and fear gathering in his unsteady eyes. 

“Not a chance, Akaashi.” The man leaps at him, but Keiji is quick to the draw by grabbing a stone, allowing himself to smash it against the man’s head. This seems to shake him more than the vase, and the man lies on the ground motionless for a moment. 

However, when Keiji sees him try to get up again, he gasps, and before he can think too much of it, he brings the stone down onto the man’s head. Again, and again, and again, until a scarlet hue splatters across the green grass and over his hands. 

The life of the man bleeds out in the form of a ruby red, staining the sacred grounds of the eternal garden, and dying the thread of gold around Keiji’s finger a furious, unforgiving red. 

“You, my child, have committed an irrefutable sin.” A voice booms from above him suddenly, calling for his attention amidst the frenzied chaos that is his mind. “Akaashi Keiji, God of the Moon, you have murdered another. For this, you will be stripped of your godly grace— returned to Earth as a mere mortal!”

Keiji furrows his brows and faces upwards, glaring at somebody he cannot see. His breath leaves him in stutters. “You condemn me for protecting myself, yet you… you stood silent as I was forcibly defiled! You are no better than he was!” He retaliates angrily, indigo eyes burning alive with flames of hatred.

“Your final hours in the Heavens will last until the sun rises once more.” The voice blatantly ignores Keiji’s cries of anguish and defiance.

“You cannot do this!” Keiji shouts. “I was not at fault! Why am I to be blamed for protecting myself against his actions?!”

No answer comes, and Keiji’s petrified eyes stare at the moon until the dark clouds of the night roll in, covering it before beginning to weep. The rain pours heavily, battering Keiji’s skin almost painfully, like it was trying to scold him for his actions.

It is almost as if the Heavens are  _ mourning _ the loss of such a despicable god.

The stone falls from Keiji’s grasp, and suddenly, he feels colder than the smooth rock. Colder than the rain. Colder than a god who is  _ alive _ .

His steps are unsteady as he rises from the ground, fully disregarding the corpse that he had created. Keiji knows he is not at fault— he had acted out of fear and self-defense… So why was he being thrown away so easily when he was the victim? Why is there no one to listen to his pleas? 

Why was he not with Koutarou instead?

Keiji knows it is only a mere three hours to sunrise. A mere three hours to love the man he lives for, before he goes and forgets it all.

But he never tells Koutarou what happened. He cleans the blood, hides the crimson-stained robes, and conceals the gold-turned-red string around his finger.

He kisses his lover like he does every morning and every night. Keiji allows Koutarou to hold him like the most precious treasure. The god of the moon tells the god of the sun everything that he has ever held his tongue on, letting the words fall from his lips like water down a river.

And Keiji falls asleep like that, wrapped up in strong arms that hold him so close and so dear. When morning comes, the moon falls, and Koutarou leaves to bring forth the sun. The day begins, and Keiji closes his eyes as the morning rays fall on his skin, golden and beautiful.

When Koutarou returns that night, the sheets are cold, and he is alone.

* * *

Koutarou cannot stand it. Why do they look upon him with such pity? Why do they whisper about him with such sorrowful tones? Why has Keiji not returned to him yet?

A day has barely passed since he last saw his lover, but Koutarou’s nerves are alight with anxiety and fear as he awaits a man that seems to be nonexistent. Koutarou has seen not a single trace of his beloved no matter where he went, from the gardens to the libraries— even to Keiji’s dwelling that the god of the moon had not been to since the first night Koutarou shared a bed with him. 

“Bokuto.” A voice calls his name in a low, quiet tone, and as much as Koutarou knows it is not Keiji, he still prays as he turns around. Tetsurou stands there, one hand fisting the material of his red chiton. “You… You’re confused.” It is a statement before it is a question or an unsure observation, and Koutarou frowns.

“I have not seen Keiji at all!” He squawks, throwing his arms up in defeat. “And…” He lowers his voice. “The other gods and goddesses have looked upon me with such… sympathy… such pity. Has something happened?”

Tetsurou’s eyes remained trained on his friend, looking blank and overwhelmed all at once. The man feels conflicted, emotions tugging him every so way as he looks for a way to inform his best friend of the travesty that has occurred in the past day. 

“I see… I should have assumed you did not know.” Tetsurou mutters, glancing to his left, then to his right. “Perhaps we should speak somewhere more private. I think I should at least tell you myself.”

Koutarou trudges along after his friend without much question, his mind and soul agitated by the disappearance of his beloved, and by the endless whispers and stares that he seems to receive. This is what he lived for then, the murmurs and looks of those who find him dazzling and brilliant, but now it feels like every person he passes by seems to hang another dark cloud over his troubled head.

“Kuroo, this is far enough—” Koutarou interrupts the other god as they walk through a garden, and Tetsurou’s steps falter before stopping abruptly. The dark-haired man refuses to turn around, and Koutarou stares at him curiously. “What is the matter? You have been incredibly strange so far. Just tell me what happened.”

Tetsurou keeps facing away from his friend, his eyes drooping closed for a moment before he exhales softly. “This is Akaashi’s favourite garden, right?” Tetsurou asks suddenly, never bothering to even spare a glance to Koutarou, who still confirms it nevertheless. “Are you sure you want me to tell you here?”

“I do not see what the location has to do with your words.” “...I see. Alright, then.”

And finally, Tetsurou turns to Koutarou, deliberately slow, as if he were trying to delay the inevitable. Golden eyes meet golden ones, and Koutarou feels his heart drop to his stomach despite the silence that Tetsurou has yet to break. 

The man before him looks crestfallen, as if he had witnessed the downfall of the heavens itself. Tetsurou purses his lips, once, twice, before he takes the bottom one between his teeth. His large hands curl into fists beside him, and if Koutarou looks again, he swears he would be able to see tears beginning to gather in his friend’s eyes. So instead, Koutarou looks at Tetsurou’s chiton, which seems ruffled and wrinkled from relentless adjustments.

“Akaashi was dropped from grace, Bokuto.” 

Those are the words that leave his mouth. They are quick and short and serious, and Bokuto Koutarou feels himself go numb. 

One pair of golden eyes widen, and another pair fill with tears of anguish, and Koutarou lets out a sputtering laugh. He curls forward slightly, as if the wind had been knocked out of him, and he lets out another chuckle. “That… That is not possible. Surely, you jest…?” Koutarou mumbles, frantic eyes trained to the ground. His eyes refuse to meet Tetsurou’s as he remains leaning forward. “Why would Keiji… Why would Keiji even… Why would Keiji be  _ dropped? _ Why… Why would he be dropped from grace?!”

Tetsurou watches Koutarou’s hands reach up slowly, shakily reaching for his red sash. “Hey… You… This is a joke, right? You are only joking, right?” Koutarou pleads more than he asks, and Tetsurou watches through a clouded vision as his best friend’s eyes slowly fill with terrified resignation.

“...I’m sorry.” That is all he can say. “I’m… I am  _ so _ sorry, Bo.”

Koutarou’s eyes refuse to tear away from Tetsurou now, and Tetsurou hates the way that his best friend looks at him. His gaze is pleading and desperate, as if he is still waiting for the dark-haired god to say that this was all some cruel, sick joke, and that Keiji would be wrapped up in his arms by tonight again. Tetsurou hates the fact that he cannot deny anything he has said, and that he has to watch the brilliant god be reduced into nothing.

“Y-You’re… You… This is serious…?” Koutarou confirms again, his words getting caught in his throat. When Tetsurou nods, Koutarou’s eyes dull before they pool with unshed tears. “Oh… Oh  _ hell _ … Keiji…” Tetsurou gazes at his friend after reaching up to wipe his own tears away, taking in the way that Koutarou trembles terribly, his knuckles going white from the grip he has on Tetsurou’s chiton. “Why…  _ Gods _ , why did… why was he sent down?” Golden eyes beg for an answer, and Tetsurou is unsure of whether or not to give one.

But he does. He says, “Akaashi… killed another god.”

Koutarou barely seems to process the words Tetsurou breathes out, but by the way that the sun god suddenly stands on steadier feet, Tetsurou figures that he has likely convinced himself of something.

_ ‘For a reason.’ _ Koutarou thinks to himself as he releases his friend.  _ ‘Keiji would never— he could never do such a thing for no reason. How horrible was it that  _ **_he_ ** _ of all people had to resort to it?’ _

“I… I think I would prefer to be alone now, then.” Koutarou mumbles half-heartedly, slowly turning himself to exit the gardens before stopping halfway. For the last time that day, Tetsurou’s eyes meet Koutarou’s, and they are brilliant and striking— golden and beautiful like the sun that he holds. “Thank you… for telling me, I mean. I… I’m glad to have a companion as wonderful as you.”

And Tetsurou knows that perhaps, it is not wise to let the man be, but as Koutarou turns away and begins walking amongst the flowers of the garden that Keiji so loved, he finds himself frozen in place. 

All he can let out is a quiet grunt as the sun slips away, leaving the garden cold and empty.

* * *

And so, Koutarou now sits alone in a bed that seems much too big to be filled by only him. A gentle breeze blows through the open windows of the room, and every so often, Koutarou can spot a butterfly or two flit in and by, brushing over the tender petals of the red roses that Keiji had so loved. Thorny vines wrap and tangle themselves around the bed, an almost sickening reminder of the painful edge to Bokuto Koutarou’s tragic love. 

“I am truly insane to want to speak to you now,” Koutarou says to no one. “To speak to you— who no longer walks the clouds with me.” His eyes travel to his finger, to his thread,  _ to his promise _ . “And my voice cannot reach you, but I pray that perhaps, in a different life, it will. So that in that one, you will know I apologize…”

The god of the sun stands and walks about the empty room, eyeing every item that seems to hold a memory of Akaashi Keiji in it. “I apologize for letting you go so easily.” He whispers, closing his eyes. “For allowing you to feel fear that drove you to do what you did.” Koutarou reaches for the vase holding vibrant sunflowers. “For leaving you that morning to fall alone.”

“Heh,” Koutarou’s lips part in a  disparaging  chuckle. “Perhaps this sounds different of me— out of character, perhaps.” He hums in a heavy tone, gently removing the flowers from the vase to place them on a table. “And just this once, I hope that, if you see me, you will forgive me for what I do.”

Koutarou throws the vase onto the floor with an enraged yell, the true weight of his emotions flooding every vein in his body. His heart hammers against his chest horribly, but Koutarou, despite having the sun shine on him brightly, feels cold. Static rings in his ears and travels to the tips of his fingers and toes, rendering them insensate. 

The shards of the white vase catch the light of the sun and reflect the beams beautifully. Koutarou cannot help himself but let out a derisive snort at the irony of this cruel coincidence that reminds him of the way Keiji’s moon always reflected his sun.

Perhaps even in fallen grace and death, his lover still remains in the little pieces of Koutarou’s shattered world.

The god bends down, reaching for the largest piece and holding it tightly— just enough to where Koutarou can feel it begin to cut him. Slowly, he walks to the bed and sits down in quiet, miserable contemplation. 

“I will love you when we are nothing and everything.” Koutarou recites softly. “From this life to the next, and everything in between.” 

With shaking hands, Koutarou brings the shard up to his chest, and despite the impending threat of doom that he brings to himself, his mind clears. Once again, he opens his mouth to speak, but this time, he directs it to the skies above that he refuses to look to. “You, surely, brought this fate upon Keiji. I loathe you for it, that much is true, but perhaps you will be more kind to me, and let me live my next life as a mortal. One that will find Akaashi Keiji, the mortal, and belong to him entirely once more.” 

Koutarou winces slightly as the shard digs into his flawless skin, and he lets out a shuddering gasp as he continues, “Let this string be the one to lead me to him again and again— from one life to the next— so that I may fulfill my promise to the man that I love.” 

Glass pierces flesh, and tan skin tears open. Red stains white and silver, and Koutarou gently allows himself to fall back onto the bed that clings onto the lasting scent of Keiji. He glances to his right, where his beloved would always lie, and for a brief moment, Koutarou can see the faintest trace and outline of the moon god.

He smiles, brightly so— incredibly dazzling and gorgeous like the sun he rises and brings down every day. The one that he always gave to Keiji, the moon that chose to love him.

Truly, they didn’t belong together in the sky, but as Koutarou closes his eyes, he prays that perhaps, they will belong together on earth.

* * *

“Bokuto-san, are you alright?” Keiji glances at his captain with slightly furrowed brows, feeling Koutarou’s hand tighten around his own. The vice-captain tries to ignore the way that he heats up at the contact. 

“It was a great story, wasn’t it, Akaashi?!” Koutarou laughs gleefully, holding up their interlocked hands. “It was sad, but I’m glad it led soulmates to each other.” Koutarou smiles widely, warm and beautiful. “I’m glad it led me to you!”

Gently so, Koutarou brings his lips to Keiji’s hand again, much too gentle for the usual Bokuto Koutarou, and Keiji finds himself blushing furiously. “And I hope that in our next life, it’ll lead me to you again!”

Keiji turns away slightly, his free hand covering his face. Koutarou looks at him happily and expectantly despite it, and Keiji sighs softly. “I hope it will lead me to you as well, Bokuto-san.”

The ace lets out a loud whoop and laughs, and Keiji can’t help but smile as he gazes upon his soulmate with adoring eyes.

Indeed, it was a tragic tale, but Akaashi Keiji is happy, truly overjoyed, that the threads of gold and silver made red— 

_ — and that it led him straight to Bokuto Koutarou. _   
  


**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in a while, and posting my first work after a few months is quite refreshing and nostalgic. I hope you enjoy this quick little story and that you'll keep a lookout for my other work in the future!


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